Split Personalities
by Silverwind24
Summary: As Wesley sinks deeper into his grief while searching for a way to his beloved, Illyria realizes that the shell's original owner is trying to regain what was hers. (formatting fixed in chapter 1!)
1. It's Me

Title: Split Personalities (revised chapter 1)  
Author: Silverwind24  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: As Wesley sinks deeper into his grief searching for a way to his beloved, Illyria realizes that the shell's original owner is trying to regain what was hers. Wes/Fred, Wes/Illyria.   
Disclaimer: If even a tiny bit of Angel belonged to me, Wes and Fred never would have died!  
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed "Sunshine" and encouraged me to write this fanfic! Please read and review!   
Another Note: So sorry about the formatting the first time I uploaded the chapter. It wasn't supposed to look like that at all! Thanks for reading it anyway though!  
  
Chapter 1: It's Me  
  
Night had fallen swiftly and soundlessly upon the city, and the sky was illuminated with the artificial stars that both fascinated and disgusted Illyria. At the time of her reign, the stars had been her subjects, and they had worshipped and revered her with the respect and fear that she had deserved. Unlike these humans, who seemed unable to realize the peril that her existence posed to their pathetic lives. She turned her head sharply to look at the human, who sat motionless at his desk, looking over a disheveled ancient text. She watched him with the same curiosity that she gave the stars or the sky, observing the interest and care that he devoted to the torn and faded piece of paper with perplexity and repugnance. It was worthless, how could he not see this? Why must he spend so much of his ephemeral life desperately trying to achieve an impossible goal?   
"It is meaningless, you know. You will not find a way." The sudden sound of her voice caused him to look up abruptly, and drop the magnifying glass that he had clasped tightly in his trembling hand.   
"Be quiet, Illyria." His voice was hoarse, and his eyes were tired, his face gaunt and pale, almost emaciated. He looked at her listlessly, and there were fewer shreds of hope clinging to his expression than there had been the day before when she had spoken the same words.   
"Do not speak to me thus, human. I say what I will, and no lesser being may prevent me from doing so."  
"Why don't you just kill me then?" he looked at her, and something in his eyes took her aback for an instant.  
"You wish me to end your life, so I will not. You will not use me as one would use a knife to the throat." Illyria moved fluidly across the room to lean against his desk and look him in the face.   
"I can't believe that she is lost forever, Illyria. It's the only thing I have left, that last bit of hope. Death is more welcome than life without her." As he spoke unshed tears welled in his eyes, and his voice dropped to little more than a whisper.   
Instead of feeling the usual revulsion at his human weakness, she felt something else that caused her features to soften as she looked at him. Then, she was appalled by this sudden feeling, and staggered back several steps from the desk.   
"You work some ancient magick on me, human, but I will not yield to you!" With that, she turned purposefully and strode out of his office.  
He did not give a second thought to the fallen goddess, and turned his attention back to the barely readable and text, and the way to bring Fred back that he knew he would never find.  
  
Moving through the corridors, Illyria passed many humans, who hurried by her without even glancing up from the fragile white sheets many clutched in their hands. She grudgingly realized that she was becoming accustomed to the lack of attention the lesser beings paid to her, but she reassured herself with the satisfaction that a twist of her hand could send them writhing to the floor in agony. She noticed that these humans had a low tolerance to pain, and the slightest threat of discomfort to their soft bodies and skin provoked a wide range of fearful emotions that used to amuse her. Now, she looked at the humans with distaste, but nothing more.   
Illyria entered the human's office without observing any of the customs that these creatures adopted before entering rooms. As usual, he did not acknowledge her presence with even a nod, which was a far cry from the elaborate rituals and various methods of worship she had enjoyed in the past. If Illyria realized that she was barely perturbed by his lack of respect, she did not address it at this time, perhaps trying to deny that she was losing her hold on the goddess she had been. She stopped before his desk, looking at him, watching his every movement. She noticed that he was moving more slowly than the usual pathetic pace of his species, and that he was looking even more pale and sickly than last night.  
"You have not slept."  
"Ah, good morning, Illyria! I see you've invited yourself in again," he said, falsely cheerful, and looking almost ill.  
"You have been sitting here since last night."  
"Very astute observation! I'm glad that I'm teaching you something." His voice was bitterly caustic, and his forced smile almost became a sneer.   
She kept looking at him, and for a fleeting instant he thought he saw a flash of hurt pass across her face.   
"Stop it, Wesley, please." The moments the words left her mouth in the voice that wasn't her own, Illyria's hand flew up to her throat, where it tightened, measuring her quickened breaths.   
His face hardened as he looked at the goddess, his hand trembling in anger. "Never speak in that voice. It is not yours and you don't deserve to have it." He didn't notice the way her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her eyes darted about in confusion.   
"You do not understand….I did not…" she told him, her voice taking on the hysterical, untamed tone that was usually enough to frighten him into attending to her needs. She ran her hands through her hair, passed them over her face, and then clutched them together convulsively.   
"Illyria, I truly do not have the time to baby-sit you today. If you feel like having an anxiety attack, please do it outside my office. Thank you." He didn't even look at her as he spoke, and began flipping through a large volume, enjoying how he mocked her.   
"Wesley!" she wailed, and looked up at him in horror, shaking her head violently against whatever cruel magick took away her will.   
"Illyria. Out. Now." His voice was so cold and authoritative that she flashed him a brief, tear-streaked glance and stumbled towards the door.   
She stopped there, by some will other than her own, and the shell's voice said, "Please, listen, Wes."  
He jumped to his feet, shaking, and shouted in a voice she had never heard before. "Illyria! Before I lose my temper!"  
"But, Wes," she sobbed, "It's me."   
  
next chapter on the way


	2. Winifred

Disclaimer: If I owned even a tiny bit of Angel, Wes and Fred never would have died!

Author's Note: Sorry it took so long for me to get this chapter up. Thanks to all the reviewers, you guys are the best!  
  
Chapter 2: Winifred  
  
Wesley looked at her with his irrepressible sadness spilling over onto his face and softening his words, rendering him unable to unleash his anger at her.  
"Why do you continue to do this, Illyria?"  
She leaned against the doorframe, breathing heavily. "You do not listen, human. It is not through my own will that I use the shell's voice and mannerisms. I know not what happens to me."  
He was suddenly completely alert and businesslike. "What are you saying?"  
"I have said what I said! I do not know what happens, I am not intentionally altering my voice to torment you. I cannot control it." As she spoke, Wesley came out from behind the desk so quickly that he caught his foot on the corner and stumbled, but hastily recovered and came very closely up to her.  
Illyria still leaned heavily on the wall, waves of nausea washing over her, beads of sweat running down her face. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead against the wall. She felt his hands grip her arms and shoulders, forcing her to look at him through eyes that refused to focus. Her legs gave out underneath her, and he gripped her shoulders tightly, holding her up. He spoke so softly that she could not hear him, and she tried to shake her head to clear her vision. Then she heard the words that he was so desperately uttering, and her heart fell in a way she had not known it was capable of.  
"Fred? Fred, sweetheart, can you hear me? Are you in there, Fred? Fred, darling, I'm so sorry. I wasn't listening to you, I'm so sorry," he said repeatedly, looking into her eyes as if he could see the soul of his beloved somehow surfacing.  
With another gasp, Illyria lost control, and could only watch Wesley's face changing, and hear the joyful words flow from his mouth, words that were not meant for her. She felt her visage change to become as the shell's had been, and her dark magnificent hair become the shell's own soft locks. She was terrified, but powerless to stop it.  
"Wes, oh Wes!" He looked at her, and it was Fred, smiling through tears, and he folded her into his arms as she clung to him, trying to speak as he silenced her. She reluctantly broke away enough to look at him, but he still held her as if he could never let her go.  
"My God, Fred, is it really you? How has this happened?" He was shaking as he looked at her, tears flowing shamelessly down his face.  
"I found my way back, Wes, I was looking and looking and finally I found you," she said breathlessly, swaying in his arms and barely able to stand.  
"But how?"  
"I don't know, I can't really explain, I was lost and now I'm found again, but I'm so tired, I don't know how long I can stay..." her words trailed off to a faint whisper.  
"No! No! Don't go, Fred, I couldn't bear it if you left me again," he begged her, frantic, touching her face and her hair, trying to take in every inch of her before she vanished again.  
One tear rolled down her cheek, "I'm sorry, Wesley, it's the best I could do." Then she shuddered and her body went rigid in his arms, despite his plaintive cries. Suddenly, he was holding the goddess who had murdered Fred, and in shock he let go of her, and she fell heavily to the floor.  
Illyria crouched there, almost panting, breathing in quick shallow breaths, and moving her fingers slightly as if to make sure that she was the one in control of her movements. She was terrified, and had no idea what was happening to her. She dared not to look at him, but could feel his hysteria without even lifting her head.  
"What have you done? What have you done to her? Bring her back, don't you dare hurt her!"  
"You know not what you say. I do not know what is happening, Wesley. I do not know. You think that I am enjoying this? I cannot control even my own movements, I am losing my grip on this world that I do not belong in, I cannot control myself, let alone she that inhabited the shell," she looked at him and he could see the fear in her eyes. Something inside of him softened, or broke, for he lowered himself to the floor beside her, and sat with his back against the wall.  
"Can she hear me?"  
"I suppose so. I heard you when you spoke to her."  
"Will she come back?"  
"I feel her inside. I suppose every time she takes control it will be for longer, until I am nothing but an intruder inside of her body, and I am trapped, powerless to act, not dead but not truly alive. Will you be happy then?" She tipped her head to the side and looked at him.  
"Do you have to put it that way, Illyria?"  
"If it is the truth, then it is that way."  
"I could never be happy without her, she was my happiness. But I would not wish you to become enslaved, though her body was never rightfully yours."  
"I know. But if it meant you could be together, my freedom is not an obstacle."  
"Damn it, Illyria, you make it sound like a sin!" He sat up straight and looked at her, seeing how listless she had become in such a short time.  
"You humans and your mercy. You do not kill those who have inflicted pain, you hope for them and show them your pity. You have even begun to pity me, the one who wounded you as no one else could." She stopped and looked at him. He glanced down to his clasped hands, then to her face, looking at her with inexplicable sadness.  
"I'm sorry, Illyria," he said slowly, nodding his head empathetically, still looking at her as if he could not believe what was happening.  
She laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Of course you are. But I deserve this, do I not, for what I did to her? And to you?" Then she closed her eyes as if bracing herself against pain, and became Winifred.  
  
please r&r, chapter 3 on the way (


	3. Would You Have Loved Me

Disclaimer: If I owned even a tiny bit of Angel, Wes and Fred never would have died!   
Author's Note: Thanks to all the reviewers, you guys are the best! Illyria's monologue gets a little lengthy in this chapter, let me know what you think of it!

Chapter 3: Would You Have Loved Me?  
  
The transition was more graceful this time, with the blue that had tinted Illyria's skin being gradually replaced with Fred's own sunny complexion, and her hair changing color and shape from the roots down to the tips that fell over her shoulders. She shook her head, as if awakening from a sleep.  
  
"It hurts every time," she said quietly. Wesley closed the gap that separated them by sliding over a few inches and wrapping his arms around her. They did not speak, and she allowed him to hold her, her head against his chest, and his fingers passing gently over the softness of her hair.  
"How much longer?" he murmured, as if every second was counting against the time they had together.  
"I don't know." She smiled. "You're not even asking how it happened."  
"Why would I waste this time with you wondering about something like that?" he asked, almost facetious.  
"Because that's how you are."  
"Not anymore. I've had to stop wondering and calculating and just rely on instinct and hope to guide me."  
"I hurt you so bad, Wes. I never wanted to do that," Fred said softly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes.  
"Fred, oh Fred. Of course I hurt, but it wasn't through any fault of yours," he kissed her head gently. "Except making me love you too much."  
She smiled and giggled in the way that only she could, and Wesley's throat closed against the emotion of the moment, the impossibility of having her here with him, and the very present danger of having her snatched away again.  
"Bye." The Southern accent in her voice rang out sharply, interrupting Wesley's reverie, and he was powerless to stop her from going. He didn't even move, just clung to her as she changed again, his eyes closed tightly, holding his breath as if it could stop time. He knew that he was holding Illyria in his arms, he could tell by her rapid, shallow breaths, and the stiffness of her frame. He felt her fear, and it pained him. His concern and strange and passing fondness for Illyria darkened his joy at Fred's return like a rain cloud covering the sun. He forced himself to look down at her, and he saw that her eyes were tightly shut, and her face drawn and hurt.  
"Illyria?"  
She opened her eyes and looked up at him, piercing him with her gaze.  
"Why aren't you fighting against her? Why are you surrendering to your fate?"  
"You do not know? You do not know why I have not killed you, why I live here peacefully, though I could wreak havoc and cause you all to feel the pain that I have felt? You have taught me much, Wesley, even that which you said you would not." She spoke softly, her eyes telling him the words that she could not speak.  
"Illyria, you don't mean...." He was taken aback, searching her eyes with his own. "You do mean it, don't you?"  
"I knew that I could never replace Winifred," she said faintly, her voice as sad as he had ever heard it. He looked at her, but could not speak. She continued, looking at him fervently, almost crazed, her voice wracked with pain. She spoke slowly, each word calculated and measured, but as if she spoke the truth for the first time in her existence.  
"You do not think that I felt regret for destroying your happiness with my presence, and the shell's absence? You do not think I knew each time the sight of me would remind you of her, and bring more grief, choking you and bringing tears to your eyes? I lamented for your pain and the shell's death! I, Illyria, a God-King! You do not realize that I knew I should not feel what I do, I should not care what pain you feel, do you not realize that I had been above that? I should not have cared for the emotions or hurt of any being but myself, let alone a human male who poisons himself and calls me names that should be punishable with death. A death that would not matter. But it does matter, Wesley. And my death, which sent worlds into darkness for millennia, will go unnoticed here. My absence will bring nothing but joy and light at Winifred's return. I cannot fight against her, for in doing so, I would contradict my own forbidden, but somehow sacred, emotions. Emotions I never should have felt." She paused long enough to laugh. "One would think that my foolish feelings were the product of some disease, or the result of residing in the body of one who loved you so much. But I know that it is false. Everything that I have felt, every word that I have spoken, is solely mine. Though it matters not, does it, Wesley?" She looked up at him, her eyes the same piercing blue, but something within her had changed, or broken. He felt each breath rise up within her and the soft, involuntary twitches of her fingers against his chest made him more aware of her fragility than ever before. And with that, he knew that she was dying.  
"Illyria. Oh, Illyria." He looked at her; the salty tears visible and burning against his skin. And he was speechless.  
She looked at him again, her voice barely a whisper, her question poignant, ironic, and painful. "Would you have loved me?"  
  
please r&r! TBC, of course!


	4. Lie To Me

Disclaimer: If I owned even a tiny bit of Angel, Wes and Fred never would have died!

Author's Note: Thanks to all the reviewers, you guys are the best! Special thanks to littlesoprano!

Chapter 4: Lie to Me

Illyria's question echoed and reverberated in Wesley's mind, even though it had been barely a whisper, uttered with great effort and pain by the dying goddess.

"Would you have loved me?"

He looked at her, his face contorted with sadness and regret, knowing that whatever words he spoke would tear his own heart in two, and make him a hypocrite or a liar. However, when Wesley's eyes met Illyria's, and he saw death looming over her like a shadow, her piercing gaze brought from him nothing but the truth.

"I love Fred. I loved her and I always will love her, and nothing can change that. She is my soul mate and without her I am not complete." The look on Illyria's face told him that she knew these things better than anyone, and she still waited for the answer to her question, commanding it from him with her eyes as if she had been at the height of her power.

Wesley hesitated only for an instant. "Yes. I believe that despite everything I would have loved you. I would have loved you not because you looked like her but because you say and do the things that no one else can, and without you I would have died from grief and hopelessness. I would have loved you because you were so utterly alone, as I was. You understood my pain, and intensified it by your very presence, and I would have loved you for it. Illyria, I don't know why I can say these things to you now; I can't bring myself to lie." The look of helplessness that flashed across his face made her lips turn up in a faint smile.

"Wesley, would you lie to me, if I asked you to?" She shuddered, and he could feel the life seeping from her, even as she lay in his arms.

"What do you mean?"

"Act as if you loved me, just for a moment. Not as if you would love me, but as if you do." She closed her eyes as she spoke, the effort of keeping them open seeming to take away the energy that she needed to stay conscious and in control.

"Lie to me."

Wordlessly, Wesley held her as a lover would, and as he had held Fred in her last moments. She shuddered against him, moving almost involuntarily as death sought and reached for her. The light touch of his hand on her pallid flesh steadied her, and he brushed his lips against hers in the gentlest of kisses. She barely moved under his touch, but he could feel her hand trembling on his wrist, and her skin was moist with perspiration. He pulled away and looked at her, seeing her fragility and inexplicable innocence in a way he had been unable to before, when he hadn't know how she felt, and had only seen her as Fred's murderer. Wesley saw Illyria now, in a way that he almost wished he hadn't, and he pitied her. The desperate, frightened expression on her painfilled face hurt him in a way he never could have imagined, and he gathered her body closer to him, only thinking to ease her passing.

The next spasm caused the dying goddess to arch her back, an animal-like moan passing through her pale, cracking lips. A rasping cough weakly escaped from her mouth and her voice calling his name was barely a whisper. "It ends," she said, and Wesley could see the death in her eyes, and for a moment she was as stoic and unfeeling as ever. Then violently, he could see her falling apart, and as she deteriorated physically, her emotions were torn from her, against her will.

"Please, Wesley, why can't I stay?"

She sobbed the words, clutching his hand, then her head fell back against his arm. To Wesley it seemed as if she was flickering in between Fred and Illyria, her features changing, her skin shifting from her own powdery white to Fred's warm-colored complexion. She looked at him for a moment with such an onslaught of fear and pain, that he knew that in an instant it would be over. Illyria, the bane of his existence, would be banished from this world forever, and Fred, his true love and light of his life, would be here with him. But now, as she died, sobbing in his arms and begging not to die, it seemed so wrong, and not the triumph that he had wanted it to be. And as she died, fading from this world forever, as he held her closer in his arms, his lips pressed against her hair, he heard her whisper, again:

"Lie to me."

Author's Note: Sorry that was so short, and that it took me so long to get it up! I'm planning on making the next chapter the last, and we can finally finish this thing! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and sorry again for all the formatting errors. I think it was , but I'll be more careful uploading this time!


End file.
